The Penn's Grove record., 1887-07-23

lucy udu q Illcus uu5dLlouou lOOh III
them this afternoon, and, despite the
peace and beauty Of the scene, he
seemed restless and disturbed. He was
in n of what Lucia called his ''com-
pick moods" when every opposite force
in his nature seemed to be at work at
n and the same time.
His friendship had always been a
| perplexity to her.
Sometimes he would be genial, merry,
a most charming, good comrade, and
then again cold, sad, and always mere
or less strange.
A struggling young physician. proud
and poor, fighting down for honor's
sake a passionate, hopeless love.
Small wonder that he sometimes
moved as If in a dream, for these con-
flcts of the heart-all the sharper for
being noiseless-are bound to leave
their scars upon the brain.
But Lucia did not guess any of this,
as a more widely experienced woman
might have done, and only wondered
that her friend-for he did seem that
to her-should be at times SO unfriend-
like.
Among men he passed for a light of
heart, careless kind Of fellow, generous,
if a little cold, but always ready to lift
a burden for another, though never
letting any mi come too near his own.
They sat without talking for a while,
feeling silence was best in that lovely
spot where one was so close to Nature
he could almost feel her warm, odorous
breath on his cheek.
DIR. Holt was first to speak:
"Miss Lucia, | wonder what you are
thinking aboutP DO you know, your
thoughts seem to float In your eyes like
fish in a stream, always there just
below the surface, but not always easy
to seize.
ut is very tantalizlng in you. You
look as if you had something to impart,
and a body gets to wondering and won
dering what it Is until he finds himself
dong nothing else.
81 really think you ought to stop 1t.
or else crafty a very blameless curios-
ity."
She opened her purple eyes wide,
and, giving him one Of her long, Inclu-
sive looks, which seemed to adopt
into her thoughts along with the beau
tlful things already there, answered
slowly.
"Would you really like to knowP
Why, | was just thinking, if l were
rich, what great things L would do for
this river. 1t is terrible to be poor,
isn't it. There are so few things you
can do"
He leaned forward, picked up a
stone. and threw it into the river.
"Yes, it is terrible to be poor. l
sometimes wonder what good excuse a
poor man can offer for living"
His tone was so bitter that the girl
made haste to say:
"You shouldn't talk that way; it is
wicked.
Shouldn't l? Well, perhaps not.
Somebody does say that poverty comes
by Divine gift as well al riches, and /
suppose it is intended as a sort of grist-
mill for ones superfluous pride; but
when everything in a mans nature
seems to run into that there Is not much
of the poor fellow left by the time the
grinding is over. There is one thing,
however," Strengthening himself up
and looking across the river, ''that is
objectionable, and that is for G Iii
without money or prospects of money
to indulge himself in that madness of
the heart called love. He should keep
that organ empty until his pockets are
filed, for a full heart and a slim purse
are an illmated pair. Anyother course
IS sheer lunacy, and should be a plea
sufficient for imprisonment in the
asylum for Idiots"
He paused a moment for Lucia to
answer, but as she did not speak he
continued in the same strain with
whimsical persistence, jeering at love
and lovers, and especially at those silly
folks ''who married for a sentiment,
with nothing substantial to feed 1t on,
or themselves either, for that matter"
Still Lucia did not interrupt him.
He kept his eyes fixed on the fields
to the south, and seemed unconscious
of the vehemence Of his words.
ga man commits a wrong when he
asks a girl to marry him and has moth
ing to give her but his love. 1t Is
despicable in him, and slnfully weak in
her to permit it. 1t is her simple duty
to refuse him, s she would a confirmed
drunkard or any other incurable.
"This bread and cheese and kisses
sentiment will do very well for a novel
list to use as a peg on which to hang a
lot of sentimental twaddle; but it will
not do for practical life. And in this
world we have to be practical.
"a girl ought to marry a man who
can provide for her, and IL she has
choice between a rich sutton and a poor
one, she will be very silly indeed to let
a foolish fancy that anybody can out
live stand in the way of her future
well, comfort, or whatever the modern
name for happiness is"
There was a curious strain In his
voice toward the last, and he tried to
loosen it by a forced laugh, adding, as
if to himself, "God must have been in-
tended exclusively for the poor, for they
can love Him, at any rate, without
committing a SIM"
Lucia arose. There was a faint flush
on her dark cheeks now.
eff you have quite finished we will
90 home. You recited your lesson
well, and, 1 hope, feel the pleasure
that arises from a consciousness of
having done ones duty. 1t was just a
tribe superf1uous. though, to waste 80
much strong rhetoric on me, for l never
had the slightest intention Of marrying
a poor man."
She gathered her dress close around
her as she spoke, and proceeded to
climb up the bank, disdaining his prof.
fered assistance, and, alas, not seeing
the panied and weary look In his
eyes-a look as of one worn out in life's
struggle. And he could not guess that
the proud little heart was almost BURST
ing. and that tears were falling silently
one by one, for the slim young figure
was carried as erect as ever, and the
head never once dropped as she walked
before him.
And SO these two went home through
the March woods, with a mountain of
misunderstanding between them.
The sun covered up his head behind
the hills, and the air grew chill. AS
they neared Lucia's home they met
John Terrell coming out.
He was a g~ood-looking man, tall and
well put together, but with a certain